


I've Been Loving You for Quite some Time

by sixofclarkes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Forbidden Love, Historical Fantasy, Literally Everyone is a Wolf, Protective Bellamy Blake, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Wolf Pack, Wolfwalkers AU, historical fantasy but make it inaccurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixofclarkes/pseuds/sixofclarkes
Summary: "But Wolfwalkers are just a myth that people like my father tell children so they don't misb'have," Clarke protested weakly, following the strange boy.He grinned over his shoulder at her, letting the branch he had just passed under snap back and almost nail her in the forehead."Whatever you say, sweetheart," he said innocently, with a wide grin as she spluttered and whacked at the offending shrub. "I guess you won't be wanting to see my cave then, or meet the pack?"
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin, Bellamy Blake & Octavia Blake, Bellamy Blake & Roan, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Gabriel Santiago/Roan, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin
Comments: 15
Kudos: 23





	1. When the Wolves Came

It was early in the morning when John and Roan saw the wolves surrounding their little farmstead just north of Kilkenny. Too early if you ask John, long before the sun would even begin to show its face.

They’re on the way to check on the sheep and make sure the ones that were going to Lord Lightbourne were ready for the journey to the palace.

The first of the wolves in question was a soft-looking red-brown one, with wide brown eyes, who looked down on the two men from the rocky outcropping above their sheep. It watched them with its head tilted to the side, looking down questiongly at them as if asking what they were going to do now that they had recognized its presence.

“Roan, praise the Lord, get the damn beast out of here,” Gabriel hissed from where he had cowered behind the fencepost. The other man looked back at him with a single raised eyebrow.

“Some help you are,” Roan grumbled. But before he could open his mouth to continue, the wolf moved its head back, closed its eyes, and let out a long, low howl.

Gabriel’s head jolted up in fear. “It’s calling its pack, probably. What are we supposed to do without any of the guards?”

Before Roan could respond, there was a rustling in the bushes and the two men watched, panic beginning to set in as wolves, one by one, made their way into a semi-circle around the red-brown wolf.

By the time they had finished spreading out, there had to be around twenty wolves peering down at them. All of them except the first one had gray-ish black furs and narrow yellow eyes, and were beginning to look more than a little intimidating. Gabriel ducked behind Roan, watching as the brown wolf began to howl.

It only took a moment before the others began to join in the howling one by one until the entire pack was taking part. Even Roan, for all his bluster and physical strength, was backing away, and Gabriel was already hidden behind the gatepost.

“Do something, you arsworm!” he shrieked at Roan, who was beginning to take steps backwards.

He glared over his shoulder at the cowering little man. “You do something!”

As the two men shrieked back and forth between each other, the wolves slowly made their way down the curve of the hill, the brown one leading the way. 

Gabriel glanced around Roan’s hulking form, catching sight of what was happening. “Don’t just stand there, you fool. They’re coming!”

The sheep began to bleat, moving in circles and nearly trampling Gabriel in the process. Screaming, the smaller man darted out of the way to avoid getting trampled.

Two of the gray wolves started to back Roan up against the gate, pinning him away from the sheep as he grabbed a torch from a post and waved it at the oncoming beasts. They whined, jumping back a bit in fear and Roan spared a glance over his shoulder.

“Grab a torch,” he yelled to Gabriel, pointing to one nearby..”They don’t like the flames.”

He grabbed it as three wolves tried to all jump on him at the same time, crying out in fear. Gabriel waved the stick in fear, almost burning one of the beasts that was closest to him. The wolf yelped and limped back to the edge of the woods, licking itself while keeping an eye on the fray. Gabriel barely had enough time to worry about it before the two others snarled and leaped at him.

“Roan, help!” he called, the torch falling from his hands and hitting the ground with a thud as the animals began to climb onto him. He futilely attempted to shove them off, only causing the wolves to become even more feral with the movement.

The other man spared a glance over from where he was getting backed up against the house by another pair of wolves, and it was the only time Gabriel had ever seen Roan look genuinely terrified, in all the years they had known each other.

Gabriel shut his eyes tightly, trying to ignore the stings of the wolves’ claws as they began to rip through his shirt when a bright flash of gold light lit up his closed eyes. He opened them, blinking slowly, to find that the entire wolf pack, even the ones attacking him and his partner, had disappeared.

He lifted his gaze to the hill to find the brown wolf from before staring down at them again. Behind it were the outlines of the rest of the pack, dragging the bodies of several of Gabriel and Roan’s sheep behind them into the forest.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel watched as Roan struggled to get up from where the wolves had pushed him down. A large gash extended from the tear at the top of his chest and seemed to go down to his leg, judging from his limp.

He extended his hand out, trying to get the wolves to stop. “Please,” Roan called out to the reddish-brown creature before it could turn away. “Those sheep are the only way my husband and I survive.”

In the back of his mind, Gabriel remembered that the guards would come in just a bit to pick up several more sheep for Lord Lightbourne. With the loss of both the sheep that the wolves were taking, plus the ones going to the soldiers… Gabriel winced internally at the thought.

Before he could try to get up though, to reach out to his husband, the huge red-brown wolf leaped off the cliffside, landing with a thump that kicked up a dust cloud.

“Roan!” Gabriel coughed out, trying to wave away the dirt. “Where are you?”

Suddenly, a silhouette appeared in front of him, and the dust in the air seemed to disappear around them. The brown wolf stood in front of him, looming over Roan, and seemingly bigger than it had been when it had been on top of the cliff. It glanced up at the sound of Gabriel’s voice, but didn’t budge from its place on Roan.

His eyes widened and Gabriel screamed. “Get off him, you gobshite!”

Roan’s head lolled back so he could see his husband, barrelling towards them, and his eyes grew in panic. “John, get back!”

He skidded to a halt, reaching out to grab the torch that had fallen before realizing that the flame had long since gone out thanks to the dust.

“Get off my husband, beast!” he cried out.

“I swear to heaven and back, John,” Roan said firmly, or at least as firm as he could with being stuck underneath a wolf. “Get back.”

Gabriel stopped in his tracks, staring at the other man. “Get away with that, Winters.”

“I’m serious, John,” he said stiffly. “Stay back.”

He watched, frozen, as the wolf’s attention shifted back to Roan and it began to sniff at him again. Roan stayed stock still, unmoving and barely breathing, eyes wide open.

Finally, the wolf stepped back and released Roan, who scrambled backwards and away from it. The beast raised its head and began to howl.

Gabriel grabbed Roan’s hand and pulled him closer, just now noticing the blood seeping from a large wound on his chest as the wolf’s howls grew louder and louder until it was the only thing the two men heard.

“What in tarnation is going on,” Roan whispered and Gabriel spared a look over to see a strange golden light that seemed to come straight from the wolf’s mouth, shooting straight up to the sky in a beam of light. He felt a strange combination of awe and terror begin to rise up inside his chest.

He grabbed Roan’s hand. “Can you make it to the barn, or at least the stables?”

Gabriel watched in fear as he shook his head, curling around himself in pain. “One of those bastards got me good,” Roan hissed out, uncovering his chest slightly to reveal more blood than Gabriel had ever seen in one place. He started to become slightly woozy at the sight.

Before John could respond, the wolf suddenly cut off its howling. The two men watched, terror leaving them both paralyzed as the creature reached out, a golden aura beginning to form around it, and touched Roan’s chest, almost… gently.

Gabriel watched as the golden light slowly spread from the wolf into the bloody wounds on Roan’s chest. There was a moment of quiet, and right before his eyes, the gashes started to heal, shimmering with that golden light the entire time.

Moments, or what could have been hours for all Gabriel knew, passed, before the wolf stepped away and the bright shine disappeared with it. His husband’s breath caught and Gabriel quickly reached out to wrap a hand behind Roan’s head before it could hit the ground.

“Roan,” he breathed, gently shaking the man. “Roan, wake up.”

There was a moment of silence, and Gabriel’s heart caught in his throat but before he could turn back to the wolf to yell, Roan sat up with a loud gasp.

“Oh thank you so so much,” Gabriel murmured, pulling his husband close. “You’re alright.”

Roan pressed closer to him, seeking out warmth, but pulled away after a moment to see the wolf, who was beginning to turn away.

“Wait!” he called out.

The creature paused, and glanced back over its shoulder at the two men. Its eyes focused on Roan’s shirt, and Gabriel glanced down with a gasp.

What had just been blood a moment before had disappeared, revealing pink skin, and right in front of his very eyes, the gashes slowly thinned, and then closed. He reached out, not quite believing it, and touched what had just been viciously torn open skin to find it completely healed.

Roan’s gaze met the wolf’s and the two stared at each other, as if silently communicating between them. A beat, and then Gabriel heard Roan whisper under his breath.

He could only catch pieces of it, “why did-” and “they’re your pack-”; nowhere near enough to understand the gist.

A few seconds passed, and Roan finally said in a tone that seemed almost… disappointed, “Thank you wolf.”

Gabriel stared at him like he really had hit his thick head. The wolf simply bowed its head, and turned and bounded away.

The two men watched the beast leave in silence, and then Gabriel’s head snapped around to glare at his husband. “What in God’s name was that?” he hissed. “You could have died there!”

Roan softly shook his head, still staring at the space in the bushes that the wolf had disappeared into. “It was never planning on hurting us,” he murmured.

Raising a hand to Roan’s face, Gabriel swiped at a piece of dirt, scowling. “If that was the case, it would have called off the rest of its pack and we’d still have all our sheep. Let’s just get inside and clean you up, in case they come back.”

Gabriel stood up on shaky legs, and then bent down and reached an arm around the other, who was still gazing off into the distance. “Up you go, we don’t have all day. The Lord’s men are still coming to collect their sheep.”

Roan’s head turned at that and he stared up at his partner in surprise. Gabriel let out a laugh at that and hoisted him up, letting him lean on his shoulder.

“You big oaf,” he snorted, carefully leading them back to the little cabin. “You completely forgot about that, didn’t you?”

He shook his head, and Gabriel smiled, although carrying all of Roan’s weight when he was twice as heavy as him probably made it look like a grimace.

“It’s no worries,” he said soothingly. “You rest, and I’ll set some tea and take care of everything, ‘lright?”

Roan nodded, clearly still dazed as Gabriel led him over to the tiny seat in the corner, then grabbed one of their few fraying pillows from the bunk and propped it up behind him.

“Let me check your wounds,” he whispered, reaching up to unbutton the man’s shirt. Roan stayed silent, and Gabriel actually grimaced this time, before reaching up and lifting the fabric off of him.

His breath caught at the sight in front of him.

Sure enough, all the gashes from the wolf attack had simply vanished, leaving what seemed like untouched skin behind. Gabriel gently touched it to see if it was sensitive, but Roan didn’t flinch even a bit.

Somehow, the wolf’s light had healed his husband, completely mending the gashes and blood that the gray wolves had left behind in their tracks.

Before he could think too much about it, Gabriel heard a rumbling sound and rushed to the window to find a team of horses about a half mile away. Even from this distance, he could make out the figure leading the group. A tall man with graying hair, wearing a fancy black cloak that made Gabriel irrationally bitter every time he saw it, riding a gorgeous chestnut mare.

Lord Lightbourne himself had decided to visit, on today of all days.

He raced back to Roan, reaching out a hand to cup his cheek and get his attention from where the bigger man had begun to stare off into the corner again.

“The guards are here already,” he breathed, gently shaking Roan’s shoulder. “And Lord Lightbourne is with them this time.”

No response, Gabriel winced.

“Just stay here and rest a bit,” he whispered. “I’ll take care of the deal.”

He stood up and grabbed his coat from where it had fallen to the floor in the rush when they came into the house, and with one last glance back at Roan, Gabriel ducked out of the house and began to run down the hill to meet the oncoming men, shouldering his jacket as he went.

Gabriel managed to make it nearly to the armored men before he had to pause. He was nowhere near as muscled as Roan, even though they had both spent their lives on the farm.

“What’s the story?” one of them questioned, running up to Gabriel the moment they saw him. He was panting heavily and bent over while trying to catch his break as he spoke between gasps.

“There was a pack of wolves,” he choked out. “They attacked my partner and stole some of our sheep. You have to help us.”

The man glanced back at the other guards who were making their way over.

“A wolf pack?” one of them asked, raising his spear and glancing around, as if there was a beast nearby. Gabriel nodded, panting heavily.

The first guard who had spoken turned to the others and pointed at three of them. “You lot, go check the area to see if the beasts are ‘round. You two,” he said, nodding to another pair. “Guard the Lord, and the last of you will come with me to get the sheep so we can be on our way.”

Gabriel nodded, his mind barely registering the words through the shock his brain was dealing with from the morning’s excitement, but he  _ did _ hear the last part of what the man said, and whipped around to him.

“Please, you can’t take more,” he begged, glancing between the man and Lord Lightbourne himself, who peered down from his perch on the horse. “With the one that the wolves took, and this, Roan and I may not be able to survive the winter.”

By the end of his plea, Gabriel had become frantic, pleading with the Lord himself, who remained stony and quiet.

There was a deafening pause, and he realized what he had just done. Bowing his head, Gabriel said softly. “We’ll pay you back in the spring, my Lord. With interest, if that suits your needs. Just don’t take more than the deal today.”

Lord Lightbourne studied the man before him, who was practically on his knees, in quiet as the guards began to disperse to do their duties. Finally, he bowed his head once.

“Farmer Santiago,” he said, his voice little more than a rasp that struck Gabriel’s ears and made him flinch ever so slightly. “We have a deal.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to respond, to thank him, but before the words could roll off his tongue, there was a shout from the other side of the farm house. He whirled around at the same moment that the Lord kicked his horse into action and rode to investigate what was going on.

They arrived to find a gigantic black wolf snarling at the guards, who had clustered together to form a protective shield and were attempting to stab at the creature whenever it got too close. Gabriel’s eyes widened and he grabbed the lantern from next to the door, and tossed it to the nearest guard.

“The beasts don’t like the flames,” he explained in a rush at the man’s confused expression, and darted inside to check on Roan before he could ask.

“Roan!” He shouted, slamming open the door. “Roa-”

Gabriel was greeted with silence.

He immediately became frantic. “Roan, where are you?” he yelled, running out to the side yard and trying to block out the snarls of the wolf and the guards from his hearing. He caught sight of a torn up piece of fabric and choked down a sob, rushing over to it and picking it up.

The fabric in question turned out to be a sweater Gabriel had knitted for his husband a year before, now torn to shreds. A cold feeling began to seep over Gabriel and he glanced around. “Roan, around you nearby?”

He tore through the bushes in front of the cabin and almost tripped over something on the ground, and glanced down to find Roan’s unmoving body laying half-hidden under a shrub.

“Roan,” he breathed, kneeling down and gently shaking to him. “Roan, wake up, there’s a wolf and we’ve got to get out of here.”

No response, and Gabriel’s heart clenched.

“Alr’ght,” he muttered, reaching out an arm to steady him as he carefully pulled his husband off the ground. “I can get you out of here.”

Gabriel let Roan’s body drape over him as he gently carried him back towards the house and to one of the horses. As he lifted him onto the creature, he heard shouts from behind and glanced back to see the black wolf pounce onto one of the guards, knocking him to the ground and smacking the sword out of his hand.

Suddenly, a crazy idea ran through Gabriel’s mind. Absolutely insane. Impossible.

But it was the only thing that made sense. Roan was slowly slipping off the side of the horse, and Gabriel carefully reached out to right him so he wouldn’t hit the ground before making his way over to the edge of the barn to view the fight.

Blood was running down the wolf’s back and he could see a bullet hole bleeding in its back, staining the fur. He winced, glancing back at Roan who twitched and his knee moved ever so slightly.

Gabriel crept out, making his way along the house to get closer to the fight. He tried to tread lightly, careful not to break any branches as he got closer.

_ Crack. _

The wolf’s eyes snapped up to meet Gabriel’s. An immediate flash of panic coursed through his veins, but the wolf didn’t move, didn’t react. It didn’t budge a muscle from its place above another soldier.

Moments passed while the two stared at each other, Gabriel lost in the cold blue eyes of the beast that inexplicably reminded him of Roan, until a shot fired, piercing the air with a sharp crack. The wolf jumped back with a whine, eyes darting between Gabriel and the approaching men who were just arriving, clearly upset and confused.

“You’re safe, I promise I’ll protect you,” Gabriel murmured, trying to reach out to calm the beast who was clearly becoming frantic. “Stay back!” he called over his shoulder to the men.

The wolf snarled at his hand and before he could move, it darted off into the woods, disappearing with one last glance over its shoulder.

“Stop!” Gabriel cried out, but it was too late. The guards rushed forward to stop him before he could follow the creature into the depths of the forest, some blocking his path with their spears as the others went to help the ones who had been taken down.

“That was Roan,” he whispered, staring off into space as they pulled him back to the horses. “That wolf was my partner…”

A cry abruptly cut through his senses, and Gabriel, the guards, and Lord Lightbourne, who had finally arrived on the scene, all lifted their gaze to see a man pointing at the ground, shaking.

“What is it, Ryker?” Lord Lightbourne asked, sounding vaguely bored, and Gabriel followed him over to the scene.

On the ground was a single word etched into the dirt in scrawl, as if someone hadn’t had much time to get it done.

_ Blake _

Everyone’s gazes, even Gabriel’s tear-soaked eyes, all shifted to the Lord, who studied the word in an indiscernible gaze.

A minute passed before he spoke, his voice oddly silent. “Send for the Griffins. It’s high time we burned down these woods for farms, and how must we do that with a wolf pack?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can always prompt me for more fics at t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a pre-warning for why this chapter is kind of a little all over the place, I haven't slept in a week and a half and didn't edit this, so enjoy my completely unprepared Chapter 2. First *real* Bellarke content soon to come :)

“Bread! Get your bread!”

“Move out of the way, child, before you get trampled to death ‘round here!”

Clarke Griffin darted between the legs of the people walking down the street, narrowly avoiding getting kicked by several of them. “Watch where you’re going, pup!” a large woman yelled out to her, barely avoiding a catastrophe with the stack of clothing she held.

“Islanders,” one old man muttered as Clarke ducked under the bag he was holding. “Get out of the way, child.”

She turned back, preparing to throw an insult right back at him, but the words died on her tongue when she caught a good look.

The man in question was dressed from head to toe in a strange fur the likes of which Clarke had never seen, pure black at first glance but the longer she stared at it, the more it seemed to change color. A crossbow was slung over his back, and he wore a scowl, directed straight at her.

“Keep movin’,” he snapped at her. “Don’t got all day, lass.”

“You’re a hunter,” Clarke breathed in surprise. “You’re with the Guild, right? So is my Father.”

She kept pace with the strange man as he walked towards the gate that led out of the city, noting that he seemed to have a limp in his right leg.

“I’m no Guild member,” he snapped, glaring at her. “But I think you ought to run back to your father, little bird. I’ve got work to do now.”

Before Clarke could respond, he was gone, vanishing into the crowd. She huffed out a sigh, turning to make her way back into town, but smashed straight into someone’s leg and falling to the ground.

“There you are,” a familiar male voice said, relief tainting his voice. “Been worried sick about you, little one.”

Clarke looked up into her father’s face, towering above her, and gave a dramatic sigh. “Hello, Father.”

Jake smirked, bending down to get to her height while trying not to knock over his own crossbow, strung to his back. “Bothering the locals already, lass? We’ve been here for a day or two, let’s get home and get some tea. Picasso is waiting for you at home.”

She perked up at the mention of her falcon immediately, reaching out to grab her father’s hand. “I haven’t been gone for that long,” she teased. “He can’t be missing me as much as you say, Father, it’s only been a bit.”

He rolled his eyes, playing along. “The damn bird craves attention like that hunter you were bothering just now seeks attention from the Lord.”

Clarke tilted her head to the side, not quite understanding his meaning. “Picasso doesn’t hunt wolves though.”

A smile tugged at his mouth as Jake corrected himself. “The one difference between that man and Picasso is that Picasso has you to protect her. He’s all alone when he hunts.”

The girl paused, considering that as she gazed towards the large metal gate on the far side of the courtyard from where they stood. She hadn’t thought of it like that when the big man had been so harsh to her. He was only going out to protect the city. Protect her. Just like Father would be, later in the day.

Shaking his head a bit, Jake stood up. “You want to show me some places you’ve found, lass?”

Nodding vigorously, Clarke grabbed his hand and pulled him along, back the way she had come. He let her lead as she tugged him through the crowded streets, once again ducking and weaving. Just because they had only been in Kilkenny for a few days didn’t mean that Clarke hadn’t spent the majority of her time exploring the little town.

Her father profusely apologized over his shoulder to anyone they knocked down in their path, Clarke gleefully giggling as she glanced back to see him narrowly avoid losing his crossbow. “Watch where you’re going!” Jake called out to her. “You don't know the area like you think you do, child!”

She glanced back over her shoulder to reassure him, the words at the tip of her tongue, but before she could speak, she collided with a crate and was sent flying to the ground.

“Clarke!” her father cried out, managing to catch her before she hit the ground. She groaned, raising a hand to rub her forehead where she had been knocked. When she removed her hand, there was a little blood staining her fingertips.

Jake hissed at the sight. “You’re alright, little one. Come, let’s get you back to the house and Picasso.”

He helped her stand, leaning on his chest for support, and wrapped an arm around her protectively as they began to move together, limping out of the alley she had turned into.

Suddenly, there was a rustle behind her, and Clarke caught sight of a flash of blue. Jake whirled, pushing his daughter behind him protectively, to see a little girl with lightly tanned skin and a mess of curly brown hair sitting on a crate and munching an apple. “Hello,” Jake said softly after a moment caught by surprise, reaching out a hand. “My name is Jake Griffin. What’s yours?”

Instead of responding, the girl stared at him, and Clarke was left pondering for a split second if she even understood her father, with his heavy British accent.

The girl got up and Clarke got a better look at her. She couldn’t have been any taller than Clarke, maybe even smaller, with brown eyes that reminded her of the chocolate drinks that the people who her father served in England used to drink. The strange girl had a strand of dyed blue hair that she tugged at, twisting around her finger in a nervous manner, and a soft-looking blue dress.

“Raven and ‘mori told me not to talk to strangers,” she said, hopping down from her perch to inspect the father and daughter. “They said they would be back soon.”

Clarke hugged her father’s leg, suddenly nervous under the strange girl’s piercing gaze, but Jake simply smiled and questioned, “When are they going to be back?”

The other girl stared at her hand, seemingly counting for a minute before turning her eyes back to Clarke’s father. “Two days ago,” she said flatly.

If Jake was surprised by the answer, it didn’t show. He dug around in his pocket before pulling out an apple and stretching out his arm to offer it to the girl.

“Take this,” he said softly. “And take care of yourself, girl.”

Clarke watched as the girl carefully swept the apple from her father’s outstretched arm, seemingly untrusting that he wouldn’t take it back from her at the last moment. She swiped it over her dress twice to try to get off the dirt from the streets and the air off before taking a bite.

Jake watched, vaguely amused at the girl’s growing enthusiasm. “May God grant you safe passage, little one.”

The strange girl glanced at Clarke, who was immediately lost in the pools of warm brown.

“Luna,” she whispered. “The name is Luna.”

Before either of them could respond, the girl- Luna- jumped onto her crate, and with astonishingly high jump, made it all the way to the roof of the neighboring house and bounded off.

There was a loaded silence between the father and the girl as they finally made their way out of the alley and onto a dirt road, both lost in their own thoughts.

She broke it first. “I’m sorry for running off like that, Father.”

He gave her a tired smile. “It’s alright, lass. You’re safe, and that’s what matters. You just need time to learn the city, that’s all.”

Clarke looked back at the roof that Luna had jumped onto, softly exhaling. “Do you think she’ll be safe?” she asked softly.

Jake sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t have a clue, lass, but I do know that I must get you home before beginning Lord Lightbourne’s hunt, and it’s almost midday already.”

With one last glance back, Clarke trotted alongside her father, pestering him with questions about the hunt that she already knew the answers to. Had he ever seen a wolf, had he ever killed one, when would he return… the answers to which were yes, yes, and in a week’s time.

The thought crossed her mind to ask him if she could join, but the look on his face when she looked up at him, so full of joy, stopped her immediately. Clarke knew that he would turn her down instantly, saying that she and Picasso had to look after the new house while she was gone and that she had to make new friends in the town square.

But Clarke didn’t want those things. She wanted to be out in the woods with her father and her falcon, staking out the biggest and most terrifying creatures that the forest had to offer.

“You’re certainly getting lost in your own thoughts again,” Jake said teasingly as they finally arrived outside the gate to the house, and she studied the door for a moment, trying to figure out her thoughts. The entrance to the little cottage hung crookedly, she noted, and reminded herself to remember to fix it later.

“Would you be opposed to me coming with you?” she said carefully, feeling herself choke up a bit at the words. “Picasso and I, we could keep you company out there.”

Her father gazed at her for what felt like a lifetime, and she didn’t know what he was looking for in her eyes, but he shook his head and brushed away a strand of her sunflower-golden hair that had fallen into her eyes. “Clarke,” Jake started, but the little girl immediately recognized the tone. The older man was trying to find a way to let her down gently, tell her that she couldn’t come but sugar her up and make it seem like it would be an adventure, here in Kilkenny. Clarke was fourteen, not thick in the head.

Clarke shrugged him off, a sob forming in her chest, and dashed towards the house, barging in and startling Picasso awake. The little bird had been waiting for her, resting in her cage, but awoke immediately to the crashing sound.

“Clarke!” Jake called, but she ran to the ladder to her bunk and climbed up, swiping at the tears with her arm. There was no real reason to be upset, she knew that, and yet she felt so alone. A week without her father, exactly like when they lived in England. This was her life, this was how their relationship would always be.

He continued to call her name, and she heard him come into the house, shrug his crossbow off, and heard his bated breaths as he waited for her at the bottom of the ladder. But she refused to move from her place at the far side of the bed, stifling her soft cries.

The curtains that blocked Clarke from the world moved a bit behind her but she didn’t dare to move as there was a rustle and a flutter of wings, and suddenly Picasso appeared on her hip.

“She wanted to make sure you were safe,” her father’s gruff voice said from behind her, and she flinched, and there was a sigh, and then a tense silence.

“Clarke-” he started, but Clarke raised her hand up, stopping him before he could talk about how all he wanted was to protect her.

The girl helped the little bird off her shoulder, then rolled over to meet her father’s gaze, blinking away the last of her tears. Where she expected to find sadness however, Clarke found warmth.

“You know I want you to be safe, child,” Jake said, his voice firm and unyielding. “The woods are a dangerous place, too dangerous for you, and I can’t protect you out there while fulfilling my duty. The entire reason we are in Ireland currently.”

“I can protect myself,” she protested, knowing it was her last chance to convince him. “You needn’t worry about me, I’ve seen how you handle the traps and I can do a few myself.” But Jake was already shaking his head, his mind made up on the matter already.

He pressed the back of his hand to her cheek and closed his eyes before his next statement, as if he couldn’t bear to meet her gaze with what he would say next.

“You will stay here,” he said carefully, each word precise and chosen specifically. “You will explore Kilkenny, and during the day, you’re to work in the scullery. I expect to hear good things from the women in charge there when I return.”

Jake met Clarke’s gaze and pressed his forehead against hers as she bit back a sob. “I have to be going now, but I love you, sunflower.”

“I love you too, Father,” she said brokenly as he pulled away and climbed back down the ladder. She scrambled to the ledge of the bed to watch him prepare for his trip.

Picasso flitted over her head and settled on Jake’s shoulder as he packed a small bag of food into his satchel. He lifted his hand and fed the bird a little chunk of red meat from his pack, and despite herself, Clarke caught herself smiling.

“Have you checked your quiver?” she called, and he flashed a grin at his shoulder. Though it was a playful smile, she could see the obvious relief in it that she wasn’t upset.

“Who do you mistake me for?” he asked teasingly, tossing the satchel over his shoulder. Clarke rolled her eyes, and he pointed at her mockingly.

“I saw that!” he accused, mirth lacing his voice. She gave him an innocent look, and Jake laughed, the way Clarke loved; a full body-laugh that had everyone around him laughing as well whenever he did it.

Jake walked over, leaning up to gently lift Clarke down the ladder and into his arms for a bear hug, which she returned, and Picasso flitted off his shoulder at the disruption to her perch, landing on one of the posts of the bunk. The bittersweet feeling from moments before threatened to overtake her again, but she shook it off, unwilling to be sad when her father needed to be strong. The two hugged for a long minute before the large man pulled away to examine her, setting her on the ground to get a better look.

“You’ll be fine for a week?” he checked, rubbing a palm on her cheek to dry away an errant tear that Clarke hadn’t even noticed escape. She sniffled, leaning her head into his palm and nodded.

He gently moved her face back to meet his before she could look away though, and studied her. “I need an honest answer here, child. You’re going to be fine with Lady Cartwig in the scullery, is that understood?’

Clarke nodded, forcing her gaze up to his. “I’ll be alright, Father,” she said with a shaky smile. “You’ll be home before you know it, and the wolves will be a thing of the past.”

He flicked the top of her nose, laughing lightly when she scrunched her face up in surprise. “That’s the Clarke I know,” Jake said warmly, offering her a comforting ruffle of the hair. The little girl ducked, narrowly avoiding having her crown braids, already coming apart from her run through the town, tugged out completely.

“Father!” she complained, lightly pushing at him and Jake lifted his hands in surrender. “You’re just delaying your leave.”

At that, he lifted his hands in mock surrender and nodded, tossing Picasso another piece of meat as he backed away that he seemed to magically produce out of thin air. “Goodbye, my two little birds,” he said, grinning at his daughter as he slung his crossbow and quiver back over his shoulder and backed up towards the door. “I’ll see you soon.”

With one last grin thrown over his shoulder at Clarke and Picasso, Jake disappeared out the door. The little girl stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do but at the persistent sound of her bird’s squawking when she landed on the windowsill, the little blonde raced up her rickety bunk ladder and peered out the window.

She watched, an ugly feeling of loneliness starting to pool in her gut, as Jake shut the gate behind him and walked back towards the town. As if feeling her pain, Picasso hopped down from her perch above, butting her head against Clarke’s hand, and she offered the bird a small smile.

“I wish I could go with him,” she said sadly, flopping onto her bed and staring up at the rafters above her. “We’re more than capable of defending ourselves from wolves, and Father would be with us all the while.”

Picasso gave a soft  _ caw _ and she looked over to see her little falcon cawk her head curiously.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she groaned, burying her head in the thin pillow. “You know Father would have my head if I followed him out there.”

There was utter silence for a moment, and then a flutter of wings. Clarke lifted her head and crawled to the edge of her bunk to find the bird staring up at her from the bottom of the ladder. It took another second for her brain to register that she was sitting next to two of Father’s arrows.

Clarke panicked at the sight, her mind whirling as she stumbled over and carefully picked up the thin weapons. Logically speaking, Jake would likely be fine missing two arrows, but the fear for him, combined with an ugly little part of her that wanted to see the world whispered in her ear. This was a chance to explore the woods, and he wouldn’t turn her back to Kilkenny if she caught up with him while they were deep into the forest.

“Should I, Picasso?” she whispered, conflicted. “He’s likely out at the gate right now, almost to the woods.”

Her bird looked up, and the girl and animal held eye contact. There was a tense silence, and Clarke finally broke first.

“Alright,” she relented, slipping the arrows into a small satchel. “Give me a quarter of an hour and we’ll be out the door.”

She rushed to prepare, putting the rest of the meat that they had brought over from England into the bag with the arrows, as well as a slightly smaller piece of leather filled with water. “Do you think Father will need extra water?” Clarke asked over her shoulder, and Picasso chirped lightly, landing on her shoulder. She giggled, attempting to not knock off the bird in her rush.

Finally, she stood back and looked around the room to make sure she had everything.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, her eyes landing on a smaller version of Jake’s crossbow left on the wall next to her bed. “I’m going to need this out there, aren’t I?”

A little chirp from Picasso, and Clarke giggled, running over to the wall and crawling up onto a chair to reach the weapon her father had made her for her last birthday. A quiver of arrows was hidden under some of the papers her father had left strewn out across the small dinner table.

“I think it’s time we get going,” she said, and slung both parts of the weapon over her back. Picasso soared out a small hole next to the window, and Clarke promptly followed.

She closed the gate behind her and ran down the street in the direction her father had gone, and as she turned the corner, Clarke looked up to see her falcon soaring high above the town. She grinned, adrenaline surging through her body.

Clarke Griffin was finally going to see the world.

A guard passed by, and she ducked into an alley. If this was going to work, and she was going to sneak out, none of the Lord’s men could see her.

Despite not knowing the streets of Kilkenny all that well, she managed to find her way back to the gates she had been so close to earlier. A thrill ran through her at the sight of the looming walls, and it hit her just how close she was.

Suddenly, before Clarke could make a move to sneak behind the guards, there was a scrabbling sound behind her and she turned to find the younger girl from before, Luna, staring up at her with big eyes.

“You’re the girl from before,” the strange brunette whispered, when Clarke recovered from her surprise. She nodded, unsure of what to do, and studied Luna’s deep brown eyes.

She softly said, “Are you trying to get past the big men?”, and raised a small finger to the guards who stood watch by the gate, swords strapped to their backs and hostile eyes that seemed to glower at anyone who dared to pass.

The blonde nodded again, a little more sure.

“I can start a distraction so you can slip by,” Luna said, a warning tone to her voice. “You’ll only have a moment before you risk them noticing you.”

Clarke studied her. “Why are you helping me?” she asked, voice hesitant. “If you want something from me-”

The brunette cut her off with a shake of the head, snorting as if amused by the very thought. ‘I want nothing from you, Clarke Griffin. It’s the wolves who want you.”

Before she could ask what in God’s green Earth  _ that _ meant, Luna darted out of their hiding spot and sprinted towards the guards, yelling at the top of her lungs to get their attention. Clarke stared, wondering whether to be impressed or terrified by the other girl, but her attention snapped back to focus when Luna took out what looked to be the core of the apple Jake had given her, and flung it straight in one of the man’s faces before darting around a corner.

The guard shouted, clearly caught by surprise, and it only took them a second to mobilize, chasing the girl around a building and disappearing.

This was Clarke’s chance.

She took to the shadows, creeping behind a few stalls that sold rotting meat, and scrunched her nose up at the smell. For all its flaws, at least England didn’t smell that bad.

When she was down to the final stall, a realization hit her. There was nothing between her and the wall now, specifically nothing that would hide her from anyone who might see. But she had to take the risk.

_ Deep breath in, deep breath out. _

Without looking back or second-guessing herself, Clarke darted forward, slipping her crossbow and arrows through the holes of the gate carefully and then crawling through one of the holes at the bottom. She grabbed the weapons and pressed against the wall, heartbeat racing in her ears as she waited for the sound of any guards to come running.

Silence.

She stayed there for a moment longer, and when she was sure the coast was clear, Clarke began to hurry down the hill in the direction of the woods, looming in the distance. Her father was nowhere to be seen on the empty road, and she assumed he must have entered the woods by now. If Jake stuck to the paths, he shouldn’t be too hard to find.

Picasso swooped down and began to fly alongside the blonde, who was eternally grateful for her bird’s presence. Her eyes caught sight of the woods, shadowy and dark, and she gulped. No turning back now, Clarke had already come this far.

“What do you think wolves eat?” Clarke wondered out loud as she slowed to a walk at the bottom of the hill and made her way towards the start of the trees. “The meat is obvious, but do they eat innocent humans and evil people alike, or just one or the other?”

Picasso cawed loudly, as if to say that she didn’t quite know the answer, and she sighed.

“Father always told me that wolves eat bad men,” she said, finding herself vaguely tentative as she readjusted the strap of her bag. “But there’s so many bad men in the world that if they ate all of them, there would be no humans left.”

Clarke continued, forcing a smile at Picasso. ““But there’s no reason to worry, I can protect us from anything.”   


_ “Now can you?” _

Behind her stood a large man with a slightly more narrow face and a huge build. He raised his arms defensively when Clarke whipped out her crossbow and pointed it at him. “Calm down there, child. I just want to talk.”

“Who are you?” she snapped, not backing down. The stranger raised an eye at that and held out a hand in an attempt at peace.

“Gabriel Santiago,” the man said, carefully lifting a hand to gently lower the tip of her weapon. “A farmer from ‘round here. Might I ask what a lass like you is doing heading into those woods?”

She frowned, leaning the crossbow against her leg and crossing her arms, studying him. Clarke knew she likely didn’t make a threatening sight, a strange little blonde girl with a noticeable English accent, but the farmer didn’t seem to react negatively.

“I’m hunting my father,” she said stiffly. “He just went into the woods less than a quarter of an hour ago, and if I go I can still catch him.”

Clarke turned without waiting for an answer, picking up her weapon again and taking a few steps forward before Farmer Santiago called out behind her. “The woods aren’t a safe place for children. At least say the bird above me is going with you.”   


She stopped, frowning, but did not turn back, and replied coolly. “Yes, she is my hunting partner. Now if you’ll excuse us-”

“The wolves you are hunting are dangerous,” Gabriel said, an edge to his voice. “They almost slaughtered me, and took most of my flock.”

The blonde relented, giving him her attention, and found the big man tearing up in the middle of the road. “My partner’s been missing since the attack,” he whispered, and Clarke’s heart broke despite her will. She wasn’t sure how to respond, and Gabriel seemed to understand, giving her a weak smile.

“Get to your father quickly,” he said, straightening himself out after a pause and nodding to himself. “If he is even half as brave as you, little Princess, then you can face whatever may be lurking in there.”

She studied him, unsure of whether or not to leave the man like this in the middle of the road, but above them, Picasso screeched a warning. Panicking, Clarke looked back to the walls that surrounded Kilkenny to find a group of horses sprinting her way.

“I’ll take care of them,” Gabriel said, laying a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with big eyes, the adrenaline from earlier now giving way to terror.

It was the only choice, she knew it. Either run, and hope this man would come up with a reasonable excuse for her, or get taken back to Kilkenny and walk through the town past all the children, who would sneer at her and laugh, to the scullery.

A simple decision she made with no hesitation.

Without a goodbye, Clarke sprinted the last piece into the woods. Above her shoulder, she could feel Picasso’s presence, which helped ease her fear slightly. She nearly tripped over a tree root in her haste, panting heavily as she ducked between trees, weaving back and forth until she spotted the light of day ahead.

She stumbled forward, barely catching herself before she could collapse onto the ground. Her legs ached from the sprint, and Picasso cried out, giving one last circle before landing on the ground nearby and rubbing her head on Clarke’s ankle.

The girl managed to give the bird a weak smile before looking around her surroundings.

Clarke had managed to leave the path that her Father had mentioned went straight through the woods, and had found herself laying in a small grove. A large oak tree stood in the center, covering most of the hollow with shade except for a few rays of light.

“Father?” she called out, beginning to feel despair overwhelming her. Silence.

She and Picasso really were alone.


End file.
